25 Days Of Kingdom Hearts
by Keuraki-SoraXRiku
Summary: There are two ways to count down to Christmas; with Kingdom Hearts, or without Kingdom Hearts. We chose the former. Rated T for later ficlets.
1. Day One

**A/N:** Hey, everyone :D So, here's a Kingdom Hearts advent calendar for you all. This one is being done by both me and mylife9, who you can find here: .net/u/1654425/mylife9

I've never done anything joint with her, so this should be fun :D I love you, honey 3

These ficlets are an accumulation of both mine and hers.

So here's some fluff for you all! :D

**Characters/Pairings:** Sora/Riku

**Warnings:** Mild **yaoi**, or **boyboy** love.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Kingdom Hearts, nor do i own a soccer ball. This is a Kingdom hearts ficlet by me (not mylife9 :D )

ENJOY.

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_[December 1st: Perfect]_

The sun in the sky was sharp with heat, scalding on his head and his neck and his nose, and sweat dripped down his brow, stuck the brown bangs of his hair to his forehead and at his temples, made his shirt stick uncomfortably to his back like it was permanently attached to the skin there, but he didn't really care. There was a ball at his feet, and thick drying yellow-green grass underneath them, and it was just him and the ball, him and the goal, him and the sun in his eyes and the bangs wet and stuck on his forehead. And that was perfect.

His breath huffed hot on his cheeks as he ran, feet digging into the grass and kicking at the ball, swerving it to the side because there was an invisible opponent, there, kicking the ball back under his feet and spinning on his heels because there was another one with a foot in front of his and waiting, ready. Swerved again to catch the ball before running like he meant it, dribbling like he meant it, field clear of invisible opponents and invisible goalie taking up its stance, at the ready. And in one, fluid motion, he kicked the ball past the goalie's hands and into the goal, no pause in his step, and it rebounded off the net before thumping feebly onto the grass.

He threw his arms into the air, smile big and bright and triumphant on his face. "He scores, and the crowd goes wild!" He shouted into the air, hot wind on his face, and he let out crowd-like sounds from his throat, harsh whispered _aaaah_'s of an invisible mass cheering at the invisible sidelines, and it was perfect.

Someone was clapping behind him.

He froze like that, arms left in a half-wave in the air, face smiling up at the sun, one foot held precariously off the ground in a sort of victory dance he saved for when he was alone, and all he could think was why someone would possibly be in the park, in the heat, at seven in the morning. He let his foot fall to the ground, pathetic little crunch of the grass under his shoe, and he turned around, hands still held up in the air, like he was caught.

Silver hair caught his eyes, and then aquamarine eyes smiled at him.

"R-Riku!"

Riku's smile grew, and it was enough to say that _yes, that was his name, thank you for remembering, and why are you jumping around like an idiot?_

"What ... I mean, what you _doing _here?" Sora stammered, hands falling ungracefully to his sides with a _thump_.

"Watching you make a fool of yourself, obviously."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Sora glared, dignity up and in the air and never to be seen again, but he felt a little more composed when he glared at Riku, and figured he would find his dignity later.

There was a pause as Riku's eyes flickered to the ground, like guilt. Watched Riku as he shuffled, little "Yeah, I know," whispered it into the air, like an apology, and then pale arms were wrapping themselves around his waist, hot through his sweaty soccer shirt but he didn't really notice it. Concentrated more on Riku's body up close to his like this, not touching but he could still feel it, like a presence, like a brush, and he figured Riku meant it. Felt Riku's chin rest comfortably on his shoulder, and his nose pressed into Sora's neck. Nuzzled the skin there, and he shivered, slightly, returned the gesture by curling his hands into the fabric of Riku's shirt and pressing his face into his chest, and he accepted the apology because he meant it, too.

A period of time elapsed and he couldn't help but notice that it was awfully hot hugging Riku in the heat like this, but it only made it feel more real. Only made him appreciate the fact that Riku was there, in front of him, on the same soccer field and standing on the same yellow-green grass, and he held back a pathetic whimper that had made itself to his throat.

"You're supposed to be in America now," he whispered into the warm fabric of Riku's shirt, throat burning with something like sadness and something like happiness and something else that made it hard to talk. Riku's arms wrapped themselves around his waist tighter, and it nearly felt like a second apology, because maybe he thought he needed to say it again.

"But I'm not," he murmured.

Riku seemed to be dodging the fact of why exactly he was here and not in America, but Sora had no desire to argue with him, not at that moment, so he decided to ask him about it later, when he wasn't so hot, and his throat didn't burn so much.

"Hey," Riku started, jaw moving against his shoulder and it nearly tickled. "What's the date today?"

A frown tugged at his brows. "The first. Why?"

He yelped when he felt his bare sweaty arm being pinched and punched, and he couldn't rub it away when he was hugging Riku like he was, so Riku rubbed it away for him. "A pinch and a punch for the first day of the month," Riku chuckled into his ear, tickling like that, and he would have shivered if he wasn't so thoroughly annoyed. "And no returns."

Hs eyes were only starting to develop a playful glint when Riku pulled away, all cheeky smiles and crescent-shaped eyes, and he could have looked beautiful, could have looked beautiful enough to stop Sora's train of thought, if he weren't so intent on making him regret ever doing that.

"Hey, you're not going to do anything rash now, right?" Riku beamed, hands raised in the air in surrender, and his feet were walking themselves backwards.

The flash in Riku's eyes told Sora that he totally wanted him to do something rash, anyway, and that it would later be rewarded with a couch and an air conditioner and an empty house and Sora moaning his name, because rash things had to be properly punished.

So, of course, he totally went and did some rash things to Riku, and he knew he didn't mind a few bruises. Not when they were together.

He figured perfect came in varying degrees.

Because this was perfect, too.

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**A/N: **HAHAHA. Fluff.


	2. Day Two

**A/N:** I've never written something in the point of view of Xemnas, but he seems like such an interesting character, and I just couldn't resist :D This is the second ficlet, written again by me (as will the next one be, because darling mylife9 is a little busy, but that's okay).

**Genre:** is up in the air. Possibly angsty.

**Warnings:** A feeling without a feeling.

**Characters/Pairings:** Xemnas, Saix (you can think of it was you wish, but there's really no relationship definition).

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Kingdom Hearts, but these words are mine, at least, and I revel in that, if nothing else.

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_[December 2nd: Rectitude]_

Darkness was rectitude, he believed; was a rightness that made itself known when the wrong had set for the night, and the night was right, the light was right in its own luminous way (for darkness could not exist without light, and it was right to have a definition, and something to be opposite), but there was only room enough for one right in the worlds. Two rights were biased things, and to be biased was wrong, and to be two-faced was wrong, and he wished to rid the worlds of their wrongness. Darkness, in its ways, blinded one from the wrongs the worlds had embedded into their flesh, and wrong would dwindle out if it could not be recognised as wrong. The wrong would dwindle away, like the worlds. And that was right.

It was near ironic how he would have to go about such things, with Kingdom Hearts so luminescent it resembled light, a light and hope in the sky, and why something as right as hope and something as wrong as light were considered to be the same, he had no inclination to understand. Sayings like that from worlds drenched in wrong were only considered right by those who dwelled too long in that same wrong, and he himself was probably the most wrong of all. A case without something inside, without a thing to hold except a need that didn't come with a heart, and a hatred that could only reach his skin, and a skin that only lived because it was a nothing, and something needed to exist, so something needed an opposite. He was an opposite, and that was right. He was an opposite, and that was wrong. He was going to fix the wrong. He was going to make things right. He was going to be.

Footsteps echoed from behind him, like a warning, but he had stood in this spot for long enough to recognise whose footsteps they were.

"Saix," he acknowledged, as Saix liked to be acknowledged in his presence. "How much longer must I wait until Kingdom Hearts is complete?"

Silence crept between them, like a fog, and if he had a feeling he suspected he would feel annoyed, or anticipated.

"Superior," Saix started when the silence had stretched long enough, voice in his throat dwindling with hesitance, and he felt annoyance tug at his brows, tug at them from the air and not from his chest, not from the nothingness, but from the reaction, and he rather thought a feeling would do him good. "We do not know. Kingdom Hearts had dwelled as ready as it is now for a while. It seems the Keybearer heeds his own ways."

"And?" He demanded, lips tight over his teeth like anger, like a feeling, like a something, like a heart, but he had none.

"There is nothing we can do but hope he fights the enemies he encounters. We can summon more, if you wish, but it would leave us drained. We would have no hope in facing the Keybearer in such a state."

"We would have no hope at all if Kingdom Hearts were to be left incomplete," he whispered, hands reaching for the sky and the heart and the everything Kingdom Hearts was, the something, the defining line between right and wrong and the worlds that had made the definition, and he could nearly feel it, nearly touch it. "Now tell me, Saix, what would we be if we did not have hope? Surely, surely we would be less than nothing," his voice whispered, out to Kingdom Hearts, like a plea that did not exist from a voice that did not exist, and a mouth that did not exist, and a feeling that did not exist, and it was a truth that would have made him sad, if sadness was not a feeling, and only a reaction.

"Of course, Superior," Saix bowed, and he felt the air shift with his movement as it had done so many times before, in that exact same spot, feet nearly imprinted into the ground like that. And the footsteps walked away, echoed down the stairs he had no desire to walk down, into a room he had no desire to enter. His place was with the sky, and the power, and the light in the sky that would turn everything right, turn the nothingness into a something that belonged, turn belonging into a word that needed no existence because it would have no opposite, and they would never be Nobodies again. Would never have to beg without the urge behind them for something they should not have had, should have had; two-faced opinion from the worlds that had been so wrong.

His eyes prickled with the air, a tear that had no meaning besides a reaction, and a cold touch to his cheek as it rolled, and his hands stretched in longing, in hope, and he wondered what they would have been if they did not have the option, did not have Kingdom Hearts in such a begging wait in front of their fingertips, like a curse, like a hope.

Surely, they would have been better off without.


	3. Day Three

**A/N:** I really adore Sora/Roxas, relationship wise and no, and I regret not writing more of it. Here's a slightly longer Sora/Roxas ficlet for you to enjoy. I'll probably end up writing a second part to it, which will be for December 7th, because I just love this one so much, and it was so easy to write. Again, this is by me, and not mylife9, who will be writing the next three ficlets for you all :D

Anyway, I hope you like this one. I know I do :)

**Characters/Pairings:** Sora, Roxas (or Sora/Roxas, if you want), and Roxas' Mother.

**Warnings:** Possible relationship between Sora and Roxas, if you want to look at it that way. (The sequel will most certainly have relationship material in it, hahahah :P).

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kingdom Hearts, but I do own everything below the cut line, except for Roxas' and Sora's names, of course.

ENJOY ~

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_[December 3rd: I'm You]_

He stood in front of the mirror, hands clenched and nails biting into his palms; trickle dripping down his wrists like a caress, like a warning, like a realness that only stood for nothing else but to be alive, and he understood that a mirror could not lie. It could smudge, and break, but it was the quintessence of innocence, and an honesty that could teach you everything, and it would all be truth.

His eyes were wide, he could feel that, could feel the wrinkling on his forehead, but the mirror smiled as calm as if it was normal.

There was no blonde hair in the mirror, no chequered wristband on his wrist to soak the blood before it stained the carpet, no white socks on his feet to muffle his steps, but it was him, to an extent, and it was smiling.

"Roxas, I'm you," the mirror said, and its voice was not his, its pink smiling lips were not his, but it was him, and he was him, and they were each other, and hair colours did not define a difference. He thought this, and then a head accumulated with lush brown spikes nodded, like an affirmation, like it knew what he had been thinking and it was encouraging him to think the thought.

He had not moved his head at all.

Mother did not believe him when he said he saw someone else in the mirror, as she did not believe in past lives; the cross around her neck stood testimony to that, and she always smelt of candles and incense and, on Sunday, she would sometimes smell like the wine the Priest brought to her at Sunday Mass. She never let him drink it; he was too young, of course, and he had no need, but sometimes his clothes would smell of church wine, too. Smell like God and believing, and if he could believe in God, he saw no reason why he could not believe in past lives, and the other boy in the mirror.

When Mother had once stood beside him, at the mirror, he had held his breath because surely, she would have seen the boy with the brown spikes and the boisterous grin on his face. Surely she would have seen, and when she had she would have called the Priest, and the doctor, and the exorcist, and she would have locked him up with a cross and a bath of holy water because he had been possessed, and the Devil was the reflection in the mirror. She would have cried, and tried to slap the Devil away, and when she was sure it was gone she would have taken him to Church every day, and covered the mirrors in thick velvet fabric, because the Devil didn't like velvet.

He waited for her to see.

But Mother looked in the mirror and straightened his tie like it was normal, and he could _see _the boy with the brown spikes; he was looking at Mother curiously, with a brow raised behind his bangs and a curling of his lips. He could _see_ him, he was _there_. He was _right there_.

Mother left his room with a click of the door lock, and she told him to hurry and put his good shoes on so they could go to Church.

Only when the night had settled in did he dare talk to the boy in the mirror, so Mother would not hear him. He slid out of bed and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders to keep the chill away, feet padding quiet on the floor and slightly cold without slippers. The mirror stood harmlessly obedient in front of him, and it was the utmost of normalcy, reflecting dark night images of his wardrobe and the picture on the wall, covered in black and velvet and even the boy looked like he should have been there. He must not have been the Devil, Roxas mused, as he was sure, sure that the boy couldn't possibly have been, if he could sleep so soundlessly when reflected in the velvet of the night.

The boy was sitting on the ground, leaning on the frame of the mirror and pillowing his head with his hands, purring quiet like that – innocent like that – and his lips were slightly parted, pink and warm-looking, and his breath fogged the mirror. When Roxas tried to wipe the fog away he found he could not. It was foggy from the inside.

"Hey," he whispered, kneeling in front of the mirror. The boy did not stir. "Hey," he tried again, louder, winced as he heard his Mother shifting in the room next to his and hoped he did not wake her, through these thin walls.

Blue cerulean eyes opened slowly, blinking away dreams, and the boys eyes landed on him curiously, slightly annoyed at being awoke so late into the night, but it seemed he did not mind as a sleepy little smile stretched across his pink lips. "Hey yourself," he whispered, and it was slightly slurred with sleep. "Get it? Because I'm you."

Roxas chuckled slightly and shifted on his knees; made himself more comfortable, and the boy watched him with a smile. When he had arranged himself appropriately so that he could sit there for hours, he looked at the boy, and the boy looked at him, and he noted how the blue of this boy's eyes was slightly lighter, near baby blue around the edges, darkened so by the night. He thought they were beautiful.

The boy looked away, and if it weren't so dark he would have thought there was a blush on his cheeks. He wondered if the boy had heard his thoughts again.

"Why can't Mother see you?" Roxas asked him, and the boy looked back at him, slightly startled. "Why can't Mother see you in the mirror?'

The boy blinked a few times before he spoke, and when he did, he smiled. "Roxas, I'm you. You're the only one who can see me because I'm you. Your Mother isn't you, so she can't see me." And he crossed his arms in finality, and to keep the chill of the reflected night away from his skin.

"I ... guess that makes sense," Roxas whispered, looking into his lap with a thought or two, and he thought that this boy really couldn't be the Devil, because if he were, Mother would have sensed him, at least, even if she could not have seen him. She would have known he was there.

Suddenly the boy burst out with laughter, gleeful in his throat, loud on his lips and Roxas jumped with the noise, heart beating hard in his chest because he was sure Mother would have heard that, but when the boy subsided into small harsh giggles he could hear Mother sound asleep.

"What's so damn funny?" Roxas glared, angry that Mother could have been woken and that the boy didn't even care.

"R-Roxas," the boy started, giggle cutting off his words, and he breathed deep before continuing. "Roxas, geez, what the heck'd make you think I'm the-the _Devil_?" And he burst into another fit of giggles, rolling on his back and clutching at his stomach like it was going to burst through his fingertips. Roxas glared at him and refused to say anything about that. It wasn't his fault the boy could ... read his mind, or whatever it was he was doing.

"If you're not the Devil, what's your name?" Roxas asked when the boy had calmed down.

"My name?"

"Well, I can't keep calling you the Devil." And he had to smile at himself when he said that, because really, it was stupid of him to think so.

The boy sat up, contentment of his face, smile on his pink lips. "Roxas," he whispered, and his face was mere inches away from his own. "You know my name. You've always known." And when Roxas looked at him, confusion etched into his face, he said, "Think of your own name." And, even though he found it slightly baffling, he did.

And he knew.

"Sora," he whispered, and his eyes widened with the affirmation, with how _right_ it felt off of his lips. "You're Sora."

Sora smiled wide, teeth glistening in the light of the moon, but when he pressed his hand against the mirror, fingertips white, it faltered slightly, covered wet with sadness and a longing to be free. Roxas pressed his own hand against the mirror, where his was, and he smiled at Sora because he didn't like seeing him sad, but his own heart was clenching, and he knew that Sora knew. He smiled, anyway, and imagined he could feel the heat from Sora's hand against his own. Maybe he did.


	4. Day Four

**A/N:** SO, here's mylife9's first ficlet. YES! Inspiration runs in a circle, doesn't it? We both hope you like this one :)

**Characters/Pairings:** Riku/Sora, though it seems a little like Riku, Sora instead. Oh well.

**Warnings:** None, unless you're afraid of the dark.

**Disclaimer:** Everything here, besides this little starting thing and Kingdom Hearts (duh), is owned by mylife9.

ENJOYYY ~

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[December 4

_th]_

Pant. Pant. Pant

Where was he? Where was he?  
He couldn't find me. Why wouldn't he find me? He always promised to find me. Always. Why couldn't he now?

Pant. Pant. Pant.

Damn. Damn. Damn.  
Why is this happening? Why is this happening?  
Why isn't he here yet? He's supposed to be here? Why isn't he here!  
I'm so scared. I'm terrified. Frightened. Petrified. Stupefied. I don't know how this happened, but I wanted it over; I wanted him to find me.

Pant. Pant. Pant.

I can't do this. I can't do this.  
I need him. I need him. I need him so much. I need him so much right now.  
Damn it why isn't he here!  
Pant. Pant. Pant.  
I look around and see black. Black above me. Black below me. Black around me. Just black.  
How is he supposed to find me with all this black in the way?

Pant. Pant. Pant.

He's not here. He's not here.  
I'm losing hope that he'll come. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was wrong in believing that he could find me, even though he said he could. He said it with such certainty, that there was no way I couldn't believe him. But now, my faith was shaking, and I wasn't too certain anymore.

Pant. Pant. Pant.

This is it. This is it. This is the end.  
I tried, I did, but I turned out to be wrong. He couldn't find me. He couldn't find me.

Pant. Pant. Pant.

I'm laying here. I'm laying here. I'm laying here remembering everything I hadn't forgotten.  
I remember a memory of him calling my name.  
It wasn't anything special. He wasn't screaming, or yelling, just calmly saying it.

Pant. Pant. Pant.

I'm sitting here. I'm sitting here. I'm sitting here, hearing my name being called in that calm manner. The memory is on repeat, on a loop that isn't ending.  
However, it seems different, almost as if it was real. Almost as if, he was there beside me.  
I feel someone stroking my hair back. I feel someone running a hand down my torso. I feel someone rub my face.  
I'm confused. This wasn't my memory. My memory didn't have touch, only sound.

Pant. Pant. Pant.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe it was?  
Was it him? Had he actually found me? Had he actually found me through all of this black?  
It's hard to believe; almost virtually impossibly so. There's no way he found me.

Pant. Pant. Pant.

I couldn't mistake that voice. I couldn't mistake that voice. I couldn't mistake that voice that called out to me calmly, like in my memory.  
"Riku... Riku... Riku..."  
I can hear it calling, and I struggle to respond, to shake myself of the disbelief of him finding me.  
"Riku... Riku... Riku..."

Pant. Pant. Pant.

I open my eyes that were once shut tight to block out the black.  
I see a boy around my age with ocean blue eyes and gravity defying spiky brown hair and a warm smile on his face.  
He seemed to glow. He seemed to emanate light from himself, chasing away the black, the darkness, that surrounded me.  
"Riku... Riku... Riku..."

Pant... Pant... Pant...

I saw him clearly, with nothing to impede my vision. It was actually him.  
Sora.  
He had come. He had come. Sora had come. Sora had come to save me.  
I was stunned. Shocked. Amazed. Astonished. He came here to save me.  
He's saving me.

Pant... Pant...

He's smiling. He's smiling. He's smiling warmly to me, and it's the best smile I've ever seen.  
He helps me up to my feet, and then hugs me tightly, as if I were impossible to be real and the solidity of my body made me human, instead of a spirit.

Pant...

I hug him back, just as tightly, afraid to let him go, also.


	5. Day Five

**A/N:** PFF, mylife9's second fic let is up! And it's so CUTE. Get ready for some actual relationship stuff, unlike my writing.

**Characters/Pairings:** Roxas/Axel (YESSS).

**Warnings:** High amount of yaoi, and _so much fluff_.

**Disclaimer:** Mylife9 owns everything, except for Kingdom Hearts. Got that?

So, guys, ENJOY.

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_[December 5__th__: Roxie-chan!]_

He was soaking wet, and there was only one person to blame.

Axel.

"Axel! I told you not to do that!"

"Awww, but Roxie-chan~!" Axel pouted.

"My name is Roxas! Rox-as. R-O-X-A-S! Not 'Roxie-chan'! And it's not chan, either! It's kun! How many times must I repeat this!"

"But Roxie-chan! You're so cute when you're all flustered like that! It makes me want to glomp you!"

"I swear to all things holy, Axel, that if you do that I WILL castrate you."

Axel gasped. "But, but Roxie! I thought you loved me!"

"You are seriously pushing my buttons, Axel."

"I'm not pushing the one you want me to~"

Roxas flushed red, embarrassed by the implication. "Sh-shut up, Axel! Ugh! You do this every single time!" It was Roxas' turn to pout now.

"Awww, Roxie..." Axel glomped Roxas. "You know I'd never make you angry!" Axel rubbed his cheek against Roxas' repeatedly. "I'm only here to love you, Roxie-chan!"

"D-don't say stupid things like that, Axel!" Roxas sputtered. He tried to get out from underneath Axel, but failed in doing so. "Can you at least let me up so that I don't get sand on all of my clothes?"

"Okay, love!"

"Don't call me that!"

Axel picked Roxas up bridal style and carried him over to a dead tree branch, placing Roxas down on it.  
"You know I love you, right, Roxas?"

"...Yeah. I know that, Axel."

"And you love me. Right, Roxas?"

"You already know the answer to that."

"Just say it."

Roxas sighed. "Yes, Axel, I do love you."

"Roxie-chan~!"

Axel glomped Roxas and Roxas groaned, trying to figure out exactly why he did love Axel exactly.


	6. Day Six

**A/N:** Here's some cute friendship Axel/Demyx for you, written by mylife9.

**Characters/Pairings:** Demyx, Axel

**Warnings:** US History

**Disclaimer:** EVERYTHING BESIDES KINGDOM HEARTS is owned by mylife9 :) OH NO, SHE OWNS ME, TOO? :O

Pfff, here is some fun, guys. Enjoy it while you can.

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_[December 6__th__: US History]_

"At 36 [degrees] 30' N latitude, the Missouri Compromise was agreed upon. The states above this line were named free states, while the states below it were named slave states. During the 1800s..."

Demyx groaned. Why exactly was he in US History again? It was such a bore. All the teacher did was go on and on and on about things that happened so long ago nobody really cared anymore. Demyx dropped his head onto his desk. Why oh why was he here?

"Hey, man. You okay?"

Demyx turned his left and saw Axel giving him a concerned look.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm this close to drowning myself just for some excitement in this class."

"Dude, tell me about it. I was thinking of setting something on fire."

"Is it possible that we can just leave this class? I think I'm going to feel my brain bleeding from my ears in a few."

"Nah. You know that if we skip class again, we're going to get suspended."

"I'd probably rather be suspended; at least then I know I could have fun."

Axel laughed. "I can agree with that, man. But don't worry, class is almost over. We're about to be free from torture!"

"Thank. You. God."

Five minutes later, US History was let out and Demyx and Axel high fived and ran out.

"Alright! Slushies are on me!

"Sweet!"

After getting the slushies, Demyx and Axel went to the park and played around, wrestling and goofing off and basically acting like typical teenage boys.

"Dude, we are sooo doing this again tomorrow after school."

"No problem, man."


	7. Day Seven

**A/N:** I thought this would be the last part of _I'm You, Too_. But it's not. I suspect the next part will be the last part, but hey, when I started _I'm You, Too_, I thought it wouldn't be any more than 1000 words, so you never know. The Sora/Roxas is growing! :O

**Characters/Pairings**: Sora/Roxas, and Roxas' mum is in this one again, too.

**Warnings:** _**Sexual themes**_, implied boyxboy love, and swearing. And more _**sexual themes**_. Please, no flaming - you've been properly warned.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kingdom Hearts, but I own this story, and all the words below the cut (except for their names, of course.)

Enjoy! :D

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_[December 7__th__: I'm You, Too] – Part 2_

Roxas laid down on his bed, and he tried desperately not to look into the mirror.

It had been years since their first encounter, years of laughing and quiet and sadness and confusion and hiding the mirror away from Mother, years of knowing new things and knowing old things and falling asleep on the floor, with Sora. It had been years since he had felt scared of him, of his own reflection, of himself (and that was a particularly horrible time for him, not being able to shower without constantly looking over his shoulder). He had been so sure that he would never be afraid to look at his reflection again.

Then again, he had never anticipated this.

His fingers twitched into fists, nails digging into flesh like a warning, and he was so mad, he was so _fucking_ mad at himself, wanted to spit at his reflection but that would have been wrong, with Sora standing there. He didn't want to hurt Sora, not that other part, not what made him whole. He wanted to hurt _himself_; he wanted to punish himself because he was disgusting, he was filthy, could feel the dirt crawling on his skin like parasites, like a curse, like an affirmation, and the water from the bath wouldn't clean it away. He could feel it scratch at his thoughts with clawing little legs, make him think things he should have never thought, think things like the way Sora's lips curled and went pink when he smiled, Sora's pretty big cerulean eyes, Sora's legs as he sat with them apart, unconscious and inviting, like a little fucking tease, hand resting on his thigh and brushing the fabric there, sliding higher, higher, into the curve where his leg met his crotch with a needy little moan in the back of his throat – Roxas groaned, squeezed his eyes shut and willed the images away, pressing his fists into his eyes and ignoring the tightening of his stomach, the tingling in his thighs, the need between his legs. He was so fucking disgusting. He was so fucking _wrong_. What was _wrong_ with him?

"Roxas, honey? Are you okay?"

Roxas jumped, quickly wiped at his eyes and loosened his fists, covered himself with his blankets because he didn't want Mother to see how bad he was, and how much he needed it.

"Yeah, Mum, I'm fine."

She opened the door anyway, like he knew she would, and light filtered through the door and made him hiss. "It's so dark in here," Mother exclaimed, went to turn on the light but Roxas stopped her with a "No!" She blinked at him like he had sprouted horns. He wouldn't have been surprised if he had. He deserved to look like the Devil. He deserved to turn into it.

"I mean," Roxas started to amend, "I'm just a little tired, is all."

Mother shimmied over to him, long dress swaying with her steps, and she sat on the corner of his bed with a warm motherly hand on his cheek. He tried to turn away. He didn't want Mother to see him like this. He was so dirty. He was so unclean. He was so wrong.

"Oh honey," she whispered, examining his face like only a Mother could. "You're heating up."

Roxas closed his eyes, brows furrowing, and he turned his face away from her hand. "I'm fine," he grumbled.

"Roxas –"

"I said I'm _fine_, Mum."

If he had his eyes open, he would have seen her expression balk, hurt shooting across it before she hid it behind a motherly face. But he could feel it in her fingertips, and hear it in her breath, so he didn't need to see to make himself feel guilty.

"Okay," she whispered, hand removing itself from his cheek and it felt cold with the absence. She stood, and the bed creaked slightly, and she leaned over him to press a soft motherly kiss on his forehead, lingering there before she sighed and moved away. He heard Mother place something on the counter, and shortly after, the door clicked closed. He was alone.

He pressed his face into his pillow like he intended to suffocate himself, and that wouldn't have been so bad. He could do that, and then he didn't have to think these things anymore, and he could have begged the Lord to forgive him before he died so that he could go to Heaven and be told that it was okay, he would be forgiven, and he wouldn't have to feel so dirty anymore. He could cleanse himself in Heaven and never have to think of Sora again.

He didn't want to want Sora. He didn't want to need Sora. He didn't want to love Sora. He didn't want to.

Oh, but fuck, he _wanted_ to. And that was probably the most wrong of all.

He shifted in his bed, kicked at the blankets because it was really too hot to have them on, skin burning with heat, with need, and he could feel the colour blemishing his cheeks, driving away his sense and heating everything, everything, it was so _hot_. He untangled his hands from his shirt (didn't realise he was tugging at it so harshly), put them under his butt and laid on them like that, so he couldn't touch, couldn't satisfy, but that was no good, now he was imagining Sora on top of him and touching him instead, hands on his hips to keep them still, mouth at his navel and a shiver up his spine, hot wet kisses on his skin and he moaned, arched his back for more – _no_, he had to _stop_, fuck he had to _stop_ but he was too far gone to care about what was right and what was wrong. Too far gone to ignore it, to not touch, so he scrambled out of bed and locked the door, quietly. Heard the television downstairs, and his parents laughing, and he figured that would have to be good enough. Went back to bed and made sure to grab a few tissues on his way.

He felt so dirty.

The bed creaked when he laid back down, and the sound of his zipper filled his ears, and before he could stop himself he had his shorts off and away, threw them on the floor for good measure, then his boxers, because he couldn't have them getting dirty, and cold air hit him and made him shiver, shiver all over, shiver with need and longing and Sora. _Sora._ His fingers trailed hot lines down his stomach, to the hair at his groin, and his legs spread like he needed it, heavy and tingling and shivering like he needed it, and he did, he did, fuck he needed to do something but he was being a fucking tease, like Sora would be, because he needed Sora right now, needed Sora between his legs with his hands and his mouth and-and fuck, his tongue, and that particular thought made him moan, needy and wet into the air, and his hand gripped his erection.

He felt so dirty.

His breath caught when his hand started moving, slow and gentle, at first, and fuck, it felt good, it was so good, and he closed his eyes. Imagined it being Sora's hand pumping him, slow, and his lips would be at Roxas' ear, whispering things that made him shiver with need, nibbling on the lobe when he was done, and then Sora was pumping his hand faster, and he moaned obscenities into the air and—fuck, it felt good, it felt so good and his hand paused, for a bit, and he whimpered, clawed at the sheets and Sora's thumb rubbed slowly against his head, and he kissed along his neck, wet lips and teasing lips, and Roxas made a needy sound in the back of his throat and oh, _god_ –

He felt so dirty.

His breath hitched when Sora's hand moved again, pumped him without the tease and just the need, the need to hear him moan his name, the need to feel him quiver beneath him, and his hand pumped faster, Roxas' breath came out as a mewl and oh, god – shiver on his skin, arched his back because he wanted it, moaned Sora's name because he needed it, breath short and huffing hot in the air, and oh, god – begged Sora for more, breathy "_Yes_" and his whole body shook, and the hand between his legs pumped faster, needier, harder, and he threw his head back and moaned, loud and long and fuck, fuck,_ fuck __yes_.

His breath heaved in his chest, and he left his hand slack around his cock, sticky come on his fingers and dripping down his wrist, but he didn't care. Stared up at his ceiling and thought about what he had just done.

He felt so dirty.

He decided that he needed to clean himself up before his parents came to check on him, so he grabbed his tissues and wiped his hands clean, wiped at the little spot on the bed sheet, movements robotic and uncaring, and he wanted to throw up.

He felt so dirty.


End file.
